Alien partner has no idea how humans work, especially when it comes to mating. He's been wondering about it for the longest time, or rather - perhaps a better approximation - ever since he met you. He didn't expect your immediate willingness to satisfy his curiosity, however, and now he finds himself standing above your naked form, sliding his long, knotted digits in and out of what seems to be your genitals. Hopefully.
While he is beyond enticed by all the new sensations, such as the sight of your flushed face and the peculiar soft whimpers rolling out of your mouth with each thrust, he is also equally petrified. Every time you squint your eyes in pleasure, he turns and scrolls through his little digital notebook, scanning the paragraphs in sheer panic. He's been following an online tutorial he found on copulation among the Homo sapiens. He can't possibly confess his utter lack of knowledge to you, so the learning process must be done discreetly.
Suddenly, your thighs squeeze themselves together and he nearly chokes out in fear. Good Cosmic Lord, did he somehow mess up? Was there a wrong button to be pressed? As your inner muscles contract against his fingers, he can only watch, speechless and nervous, with beads of cold sweat coating his otherworldly features. His frantic academic search eventually lands him on one particular line.
Ah. You were just coming. He sighs deeply and admires the clear liquid now adorning his claws.
"Are you alright? You seem kind of pale," you question between shaky breaths.
"Most certainly," the creature reassures you, reaching for your hips and dragging you to his groin. "Do you think you can handle a second round?"
After all, he didn't have the chance to properly enjoy himself. This time his focus will be entirely on you. Don't worry, he's figured it out...more or less.
Alien partner with a hard exoskeleton that looooooooves how soft and squishy your human body is.
I imagine they'd be super worried about hurting you. Humans can bruise and bleed over the smallest things so they're extra careful when holding you even if you insist its not necessary.
It feels so intimate to them when they hold your wrist or kiss your neck and they can feel your blood pumping through your veins so close to the surface of your skin. Your skin is so warm and it's very comforting.
They caress and smooth their rough hands over your skin watching your goosebumps prickle. They touch everywhere; your arms, thighs, hands, back, ass, chest, stomach. There's little they haven't touched.
Despite how careful they are with you, they let themselves be a little mean sometimes. Lightly pinching at the fat of your thighs and ass to make you yelp, biting your lip and tongue with their sharp teeth, teasing your nipples until you're whining about how sore they are, they love how you jiggle when they thrust into you.
They can't help it; you're just so soft, so pliable and it's not like you mind anyway.
You know the feeling when your cat is laying on top of your chest and you see something funny on your phone and start laughing, only to laugh even harder when you see your cat shaking from the force of your laughter?
Yeah, this happens pretty frequently with yautja and smaller creatures, humans included.
You'll just be chilling on your mate's chest, on the verge of falling asleep, and he remembers something rather humorous that occurred during a hunt. His chest shaking you awake as his trills in amusement. Only for him to look at your sleepy grouchy face while you're being rattled around on top of him.
His chest heaving with a deep hearty chuckle as you continue to stare at him. Unimpressed. Which only makes him cackle harder at your expense.
⋆˚꩜｡Note: Thank you guys so much for the support for the first part! It was heartwarming to see all the likes, reblogs, and comments. I quickly cooked this one up, shout-out to my boyfriend for being my beta reader.
Summary: A dangerous hunter is drawn to your fragility and quiet nature, seeing you as something precious and divine. Despite the vast differences in your cultures and the Yautja's violent instincts, he treats you with care
He’s not supposed to want you.
Not like that. Not like this.
You’re quiet where they roar. You flinch from the kind of touch that means affection to them—too close to violence, too hot, too heavy. You’re human. You’re wrong.
And still, he watches you like you hung the moons. Like there’s something divine etched in the fragile lines of your body, something sacred about the way you curl in on yourself instead of baring your teeth. You learned early what he is—a hunter bred for war, death, and blood under his claws.
You’ve seen what he does to the things he wants to keep. How rough their courtship is. How bloody. But when he touches you. He’s careful.
Too big for your world. Too dangerous to breathe the same air as you. And yet, he steps soft when he enters the space you call home (a cage, a cell, a corner of a ship lit by humming low-tech lights because their stars are too bright, their walls too raw).
He brings you things.
Not flowers. Not chocolates. No, he’s not stupid. He brings you kills. The skull of a serpent-beast. A feathered claw from a world that burns too hot for your lungs. Trophies, cleaned with his own hands. Left at your door. He leaves them like a stray cat with a bleeding mouse, proud and anxious, waiting for praise. You told him once, voice shaking. “I’m not like your women...”
And he growled. Not in anger. Not in threat. But something low, something that made your stomach twist, your spine press against the cold metal behind you. Like the idea excited him. He tilted his head. Clicked low in his throat. Moved closer. Towered.
“No,” he rasped, his translator lagging half a breath behind the guttural music of his voice. “You are mine.” You're not ideal. Not Blooded. Not even worthy by their standards.
But his. And maybe that’s worse. Because it means he wants you. Means you’ve been marked by a creature whose love looks like possession, whose tenderness comes with claws that can cut you open if you flinch too fast.
You don’t even know how it started. The way he began inserting himself between you and anything that moved too fast. The way he tracked your scent was like it was a command, not a curiosity. The way his eyes followed your throat when you swallowed, was slow and fragile and breakable.
Sometimes you think he doesn’t even want to breed you. That the idea of touching you would be too much, like holding a moth in a closed fist, terrified of the ruin. Other times, you wake up with his shadow looming in your doorway, watching you sleep like he’s debating it.
Like he wants it. Not the act, but the claiming.
And what do you do when something like that wants you? When something that could tear your spine from your body with a flick of his wrist chooses to kneel instead? You let him bring his trophies. You let him watch. You start dreaming about what those claws might feel like pressed just right. And slowly, slowly, you start to wonder—not if he’ll claim you, but when.
He doesn’t understand why you flinch when he calls you mine.
Doesn’t get why your voice rises when you say, “I’m not a thing,” or why your hands tremble after you push him away. Soft, but still rejection.
Because where he’s from, possession is not cruelty. It’s protection.
It’s a promise. It’s a claim burned brighter than blood and louder than any vow.
In his culture, nothing is more sacred than what you keep. Trophies are not just reminders of conquest, they are proof of survival. The victory, and the value.
And you? You’re his most precious kill-not-kill.
He didn’t mount your skull on a wall. He didn’t skin you and hang your pelt next to his Xenomorph marks. Instead, he keeps you fed and clothed you. He stood between you and his kin like a wall of living flame.
You think that’s captivity.
To him, it’s worship.
You come from a world of soft language and softer boundaries. Consent, communication, compromise. He doesn’t speak that tongue. Not naturally. Not easily. His language was forged in the heat of combat and scarcity. It is made of action, not words.
His society teaches that worth is earned in blood. That the weak must be culled or kept. And he kept you.
You don’t know how many he had to fight for that. You don’t know the way they laughed. The way they mocked him for guarding a soft, broken-boned little thing like it was a sacred heirloom. They called him feral. Called you a pet. Told him you wouldn’t last a season before you snapped under pressure like wet bone.
You snapped, yes, but not in the way they thought. You bent around him. Learned the rhythm of his rage. You stopped crying when he snarled and started staring him down instead. You learned how to say no in a language with no word for refusal—and he started listening.
That’s the thing no one warned him about. That humans infect. That their fragility is contagious. That their softness spreads.
Now, he waits before he touches. Watches you sleep instead of curling around you like a beast. Tries not to show his teeth when you talk back. (He fails sometimes. But he tries.)
He still calls you mine. But he says it differently now.
⋆˚꩜｡Note: My first time posting something like this. But this fandom needs more Yautja x reader content. Please bear with me as I improve more in the future
Summary: Used as bait for the Elder Hunters. Instead of the intended hunters, you caught a different hunter interest. Despite not understanding each other, the warrior became fiercely protective.
You don’t remember being taken.
Not exactly.
Just the after.
Heat like breathing inside a furnace. Metal walls and no windows. A hiss of hydraulics and something moving just out of sight. Bigger than anything on Earth. The air here tastes wrong. Heavy. Wet with ozone and blood.
Your wrists still ache from the way they strung you up, bait on a hook for something ancient and cruel. Tech-slick cuffs, research collars, chemical fog burned into your skin. You were never meant to survive. Just scream loud enough to lure something out of the trees.
Pheromones, they said. You’re appealing. Not because you’re beautiful—but because you’re biologically interesting. Like a scent that sets off alarms in a predator’s skull. You’re the kind of soft that makes instincts break down and violence feel holy.
But it wasn’t the elder hunters that found you.
It was him.
Didn’t expect the Young Blood who found you first. Young, yes. Raw, yes. But deadly. Already decorated in the blood of creatures older and meaner than he had any right surviving.
You remember the scream of something dying. Not yours.
You remember the drip of blood onto the metal floor, the snarl he made when he sliced you down from where you hung.
He didn’t kill you. He should’ve.
But instead, he touched your hair. Strange and clumsy. Just the very tips of his claws. He watched you the way humans watch lightning, awe and danger, like getting too close might kill him. And then, he took you.
Scooped you up in those terrifying arms like you were a prize. A trophy. A thing to be carried off and hidden in the dark corners of a starship.
You were unconscious most of the journey. The air too thin. The gravity too heavy. But sometimes you woke up long enough to see him, kneeling beside you like a shadow, fingers twitching near your face. Like he wanted to touch. Like he didn’t know how.
He doesn’t speak your language. But you feel what he means when he looks at you.
He wraps you in fabric stripped from his own gear. Tucks you into the warm belly of the ship like you’re an egg he means to hatch. He growls at the others who come too close, real warriors, Blooded ones. They snarl back, laughing, until he nearly kills one of them. Over you.
They think he’s gone feral. You think maybe he has too.
He shouldn’t have touched you. Should’ve left you strung up like a carcass. Should’ve let the others take the kill.
But he didn’t. He claimed you.
And now you live in the eye of a hurricane made of muscle and blood and devotion that doesn’t make any sense. Now you sleep on the pelt of some slain beast in the belly of his quarters, under the eye of a warrior who’s too young to know better and too wild to care.
Humans would make terrible pets for any extra terrestrial unfortunate enough to fall down the ‘human adoption’ rabbit hole.
You remember that phase you had–we all had it at some point–the one where you would spend all day and all night hoping and dreaming and wishing you could get some sort of exotic pet. A chinchilla, a rare snake, a lizard, a giant rabbit, a parrot- and it usually went in one of two directions.
You either A, found out how much work and money and care this animal would take- all the illnesses they might be prone to, how delicate they can be -and you pushed that hope somewhere into the back of your mind for later,
Or B, as is the case for many human parents to-be–you got your beloved pet, loved on it hard, and realized first hand just how awful raising an exotic can be.
Of course that isn't to say there aren't people out there who put all the time and effort into raising their new darling- maybe you did give your bunny a house to roam, the perfect toys and snacks that wouldn't hurt it, covered up all the wires with tape and plastic;
Maybe you built a beautiful terrarium for your reptile, with hides and climbing tools and little ponds and fantastic substrate teeming with life;
Maybe you wrote your parrot into your will because you know it might outlive you, avoided mirrored toys and stroking anywhere but its head, kept its beak and nails trimmed and buffed;
Or maybe you're the poor alien who just realized how many health issues humans are subjected to, spending late night on shmoogle or spotmail asking;
‘What is ADHD?’ ‘Why is this one so flexible, it looks painful!’ ‘Why can't it stand very often?’ ‘Why does it choke on air and spit!’ ‘Why is it broken? Why is it red and itchy? Why is it swollen or angry or paranoid?’
A sudden nosebleed, chronic migraines, low blood pressure, high blood pressure, diabetes (‘There’s multiple types!?’), intolerances, allergies, muscle cramps- it seems like everything under the sun afflicts their poor little humans!
Oh- now why is that one acting so strange? Is it in heat? Is it nesting? Should I get it fixed? Ah! Why is it bleeding!
i miss IT Robotttttttttttttt :((((( i wanna see more of him in every possible way ;)
I’m in the mood for a roleplay fic, don’t mind me lol.
IT Robot walks back into the room where you lay, spent and satisfied on the bed while looking a complete wreck, a whole in hand of things to help take care of you. At your plea he scoffs and shakes his head, his fluffy hair whipping against the metal of his forehead.
“I’m here, I’m here. You humans, always so needy,” he teases as he sits down at the foot of your bed.
Swiftly gripping your ankle he lifts your still shaking leg and presses a soft kiss to the sole of your foot before slowly making his way up your inner thigh. You whine and try to squirm away, every touch feeling like live wire, sparking shooting throughout your body.
“And so sensitive…” he purrs into your softness, his eyes turning a neon red as the heat of arousal is activated in his code once more.
A sharp gasp leaves you as he suddenly licks a long strip up your overly sensitive slit with the flat of his tongue before nipping at your swollen clit. Your hips buck harshly, whether to throw him off of you or to beg for more, you’re not sure.
But IT Robot just chuckles and gives your fat pussy a little apologetic kiss before leaning back. So you’re left panting on the bed, your body thrown through another loop in a matter of seconds while he sits there completely unaffected.
“So you wish to see more of me, eh?” He asks far more softly than you would expect. Despite the faint amusement in his tone you know he’s being genuine.
Still, your heart jumps into your throat. Fuck. You hoped he hadn’t heard that last part. Though as you watch him prepare to take care of you, you can’t deny it. You do want more of him. And as you tell him just that all he does is give a hum of acknowledgment while hiding a smile in the corner of his pixelated smile.
He works with practiced precision, all of it programming really as he takes the wet cloth and gently begins cleaning you up. Then he moves onto take care of any wounds or bruises you may have from the activities. All based on your set preferences, of course.
Nothing is rushed as he works his way up your body and when done he’s right there with a cup of water, gently tilting your head up and helping you swallow. Knowing you silly humans need such things after the positions he put you through.
IT Robot mentally checks things off his list as he does them and when he finally reaches the end of it, he hesitates. Now would be the part of his protocol that insists he get dressed, say he’ll call you tomorrow, and leave. The error he seems to be experiencing is that… he doesn’t want to do that. Not with you.
So as much as it pains him to resists the settings he was instilled with from creation, he overrides his settings and instead he gets back into bed. Your expression drops and he notes the flash of surprise flickering across your features. There’s no necessary response to that so he just doesn’t give one.
With a familiarity he does not possess but feels natural when it’s for you, he gathers you into his arms. Pulling you into his chest his legs tangle with yours, bodies completely intertwined.
You shiver against him for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold. But a second later you feel your body begin to warm, heat emanating from IT Robot’s body. The sweetness of the action has you melting into him and his arms tighten around you in response.
“However more of me you wish to see I will comply. I’ll stay right here by your side until you give the command to leave it…” he murmurs into your neck, almost nuzzling closer to you, molding himself to your shape.
In a Free Use City, your knowledge on the subject of your job isn’t always what’s most important. And in your case, it’s the least important. You were actually known as quite a ditz in the Free Use City Offices.
You worked in the tech department surrounded by a bunch of hot and nerdy guys who spoke in yours you couldn’t even begin to understand. You were just happy to be there and they were happy to ogle you and press against you whenever you asked for their help with any simple task.
They thought they had the upper hand on you, thinking they were so clever. But you had them all on a leash. An entire department at your disposal to give you pleasure whenever you wanted.
Your favorite man to bother was IT Robot. He got his work done fast and spent the rest of the day goofing off. The easy air around him made him approachable and the way all his shirts fit snugly against his bulging pecs made you drip with need.
You can’t help but spare him another glance before hesitantly returning your gaze to your own computer, the screen filled with the program you still haven’t figured out. Great, now you were confused and horny.
“Need me for something?” IT Robot’s voice suddenly purrs into your ears. His steel-like grip grabbing onto your plush hips and pulling you back into his hard chest.
His body molds to yours so perfectly it has you tingling all over. Arousal gushing and soaking through your panties. He turns you on so bad even when he barely did anything but it was like your body was out of control. As if it could be programmed just for him when he was the robot.
“Help… I hurt,” you say with a pout, your mind turning to complete mush whenever you’re around him.
IT Robot flashes you with that charming lopsided smile of his, heavily amused by the puddle you melt into whenever he talks to you.
“Where does it hurt, huh? It hurt here?”
He caresses your soft belly with an appreciation that borders on worship before one hand slips beneath your skirt, nuzzling his fingers between your soaked folds.
“Or here?” He asks while the other gives a little pat on your head.
A low whine escapes your lips as he rolls his fingers over your clit, your hips jerking into the touch. And that’s all it takes to have IT Robot plunging three of his fingers deep into your cunt, making you gasp and tremble in his arms.
“That’s what I thought… Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll fix the issue right away. It’s what I do after all.”
Your vision blurs as you dive into the pleasure head first. Choking out harsh moans as IT Robot’s fingers move inside you with precision like he has an entire map of your pretty pussy printed in his head. His fingers move in a blur as they pump themselves inside you, hitting all the right places that have you seeing stars. Each curl of his fingers sends your pussy fluttering and clenching down around him.
“Squeeze me tight, honey, ngh c’mon! Don’t think about a thing, just focus on being my pretty baby. My good girl.”
His words send the last thoughts in your head flying out the window, reducing you to nothing but his perfect little fuck toy. Your body relaxes without having to worry about a thing, allowing the ecstasy to overwhelm you.
IT Robot chuckles again as that fucked out expression fills your features. He flattens his palm so that it rubs hard against your clit with every snap of his fingers. With a few quick movements it has you falling over the edge and exploding all over his hand. Your vision flashes white as your orgasm rolls through you and you can’t find the strength to move any of your limbs after.
But that’s alright, IT Robot will take care of you, his fingers slipping out of your pulsing cunt with a pop, and giving your temple a soft kiss. He doesn’t bother cleaning up his hand dripping with your cum as he starts typing on your computer, solving the issue with the program you were using, and successfully helping you with both your aches.
“There, there. I’ve got you, pretty. Just keep feelin’ good. All because of me,” he whispers in your ear. Planning to spend the rest of the day doing all your work for you.
She's got a hologram body, but also she controls everything in the entire set. Think of like, sci-fi setting. You live here in the dorms of the studio. Just another intern that gets whatever little job is needed to be done. Working for the human talents that come and go and come and go.
You've never actually seen the show yourself. Always kept busy with never ending tasks. You have no choice. You have no power here. Work. Work. Work-
One day she singles you out, her hologram body is state of the art technology, looks just like a living person, but more vibrant. That could just be her personality though.
You don't recognize her, of course you don't. You work with the human side of production. Never actually working with her or any of that high tech that makes your head spin. Too nervous to touch it, lest you break something and pay a fortune, which of course you don't have--
Still really, you kick yourself at this moment. How can you not know the face of the star whose show you work for every day. Who's company literally owns you.
And who decides each day which human guests live or die. Every day on live television, for all the families at home
You didn't move out of her way enough, you didn't grovel or marvel enough. You just stood there looking so uninterested and ignorant.
Then you introduced yourself and tried to shake her hand.
A hologram's hand.
To humor you she lifted her hand and let yours pass right through. Just to let you see what an idiot you were.
But when you laughed and smiled sheepishly.... Instead of ducking away and being ashamed.
Something inside her nonexistent heart started clicking.
I was heavily inspired by @rottenfuchs with his headcanons for the BTD boys... so I'm gonna do some for Fox cause ..I fucking love Fox and I'll be damned it I don't give my two cents on his NSFW secrets
first and foremost, Fox to me, is a stone top. However, he can be a dominant or a soft top depending on his mood and how you behave. Him being a stone top is 80% trauma based, and will only ever get submissive if he trusts you enough. 90% of the time, he does not trust anyone with his body in that way. The other 20% is him having a power trip due to not being in this position as often as he would have liked in the past.
He will mark up and scratch up your body however he sees fit. You are his canvas and he is the artist. And he will make sure your thighs, your chest, your stomach, will have as many strokes as he can possibly give.
Fox will make sure to get on top of you, and make sure he growls and whispers in your ear all the dirty things he's gonna do to you. He is going to use you like his little sex doll, and that is just how things will be between the two of you.
If there's anything Fox is really into, its cucking. He enjoys seeing his partner get ravaged by his guards while he watches. However ..if he sees that you're too into it, he will dismiss his guards and finish the job aggressively to show that he is the only one that could make you feel this good.
Fox LOVES seeing you in all types of sexy outfits! Lace, leather, latex, it all makes him shiver in pleasure.
If you tell him to breed you, he will take it seriously and attempt to get you pregnant. Fucker wants a family and he's damn well gonna get it.
Cockwarming is one of Fox’s favorite activities. Whether it's while cuddling or sitting at his desk while he does work, he wants you on his cock at all times.
Fox's sex toy collection is being used on you, it is absolutely guaranteed. His favorite being his tentacle ..however he has other types. He's a frequent buyer of bad dragons so ..you can guess what types he has (if anyone is curious, I can absolutely give the examples ..I quite like looking through at the bad dragons website OwO)
He enjoys a good face-sitting! Chances are he will order you to sit on his face, and he will eat you out for hours. Fox is still really good at oral and will overstimulate you to assert his dominance. Making you squirm and cry while he holds you down, tongue-fucking you till he's satisfied.
Overstimulation will not only happen once, but it is guaranteed each session you and Fox have sex. Like the face-sitting sessions, he will use you like a sex doll until he is satisfied.
Fox will fuck you until you are an incoherent mess. Your mind will be broken and the only thoughts that will cross your mind is Fox, and his lovely ridged cock hitting deep into you, slamming deep into your sweet spot.
Aftercare is also guaranteed! Bubble baths together, snuggles and food is a must! Oh, and lots of sleeping, tangled in each other's bodies is a huge must.
There are absolutely nights where Fox is soft, kind, and gentle with you. These nights are full of the utmost passion, love, and adoration. He makes sure you feel loved and cared for, with small gestures. Such as forehead kisses and mumbling sweet nothings in your ear. Sometimes a man of his stature needs a night of gentle and sweet. He can't always be rough and tough.
by the end of it, you will hear the faintest "you're mine.." or "I love you.." however, Fox will always deny saying the second one. He can't let you know that he loves you.. but he can't help but say it.
Fox is very vocal during sex. Growling, whimpering, panting, everything. The most apparent thing you'll more than likely hear is him making fox noises (no duh), considering he is a Beastkin.
On that note, Fox loves a vocal partner. don't try to hide your noises. if you do, he will get them out somehow. Whether that be turning you into a moaning, sobbing mess ..or make you scream in pain. There is no in between, so make sure to be loud and vocal with him! It lets him know that he's doing a good job!
Fox really enjoys a partner with Somnophilia. Him being able to fuck you while you're asleep? God that's a ticket that he is punching in on! He enjoys being able to do whatever he wants with you, even while you're unconscious!
Weirdly enough, Fox really enjoys gagging you with his fingers. He enjoys feeling your tongue run against his fingertips while he thrusts into you.
Onto that point, he loves seeing your face, your expression twisting, contorting in pleasure. It turns him on to see your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he continuously rams deep into your core.
Now, Fox loves the shy ones. He has that belief that the shyest people harbor the deepest, darkest kinks. And he has yet to be proven wrong.
Along with shy people, he loves virgins and inexperienced partners. Being someone's first fuck will absolutely send him on a power trip like no other, and he won't stop reminding you that HE is the one to pop your cherry ..Fucker gets cocky.
If you want to get a reaction out of him, however, spend all your time worshipping his cock. Take your time with it and he will be moaning like a little fox in heat! He'll become red in the face, panting and gripping onto you like you were going to disappear right then and there. His most sensitive spot is his tip, and his knot. Make sure you suckle and run your tongue against those two things. You'll make him see heaven that way ehehe
If you try and hid your face, he will grab your hands and hold them behind your back, as a way to help him thrust deep into you if y'all are in doggy style. In missionary, however, he's using your arms to pull you down onto his cock. (this one is inspired by @rottenfuchs ehehe)
Tears are a nice way to get him hard, pleasure crying is an even nicer way to say thank you to him! He appreciates it more than anything. better than any round of applause that he's ever gotten
and lastly, his stamina is fucking wild. More than likely, you will be out cold before he's done with you.
The priest is quite respected. The whole city knows him as the most devoted and decent young priest who has achieved a high rank, but no one knows his true face…
He believes that the MC is the rebirth of the goddess whom he worshipped with others in the secret catacombs of the church. When he saw her, he immediately identified it and realized that it was fate. He will seek to take her to himself in order to worship her in all the ways available to him, without allowing others to see her.
He knows very well about Emil, and if it weren't for him, he would have gotten his hands on MC long ago. Emil hates him and tries in every way not to let his Lady be stolen.
Thinking about the yandere prodigy at your magic academy — the brilliant student who everyone knows but who no one really talks to — and how easy it is for him to take what he wants from you without anyone ever realising what he’s done.
Tags: somno, implied noncon, kidnapping, 2.6k words
You’re an average sorcerer in just about every sense of the word. You do your homework most days of the week, and you force yourself to study as much as you can. But magic isn’t really a passion for you — not the way it is for him — and that means that neither you nor your friends notice the telltale signs of his spells all over your dorm room.
Spells that listen in on your conversations, spells that show him exactly what you’re doing at any given moment, spells that put you into a dark and dreamless sleep.
The first time he uses a sleeping spell on you, he tells himself it’s for your own good. It’s the middle of exam season and it’s clear that you’re pushing yourself too hard. A night of rest will do you good, and what’s the harm in that? He watches through his scrying mirror as you drift off at your desk, your face as still as deep water. The bells toll midnight and you don’t stir at all. Maybe that’s when the idea takes root in his mind.
It isn’t a fully fledged idea at first. Maybe just an inkling of what he could do to you if he really wanted to. And as night stretches into morning, that urge gets a little stronger.
What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right? Magic is a dangerous thing — shouldn’t the stronger sorcerer triumph over the weak? Hasn’t that always been the way of the world?
You run into him in the hall the next day. You’ve never really been sure what to think of him. He’s handsome in the way statues are, beautiful but distant. And you know for a fact that his magic far outpaces yours.
“Intimidated” is a good word for the way he makes you feel; "unnerved" might be another. You give him a quick smile, maybe even ask if he’s been doing okay with exams. You laugh and tell him that someone must have cast a spell on you last night, because you haven’t slept that well in weeks. He just takes it all in with the same expression of polite disinterest, and when you tell him to enjoy the rest of his day, he just nods. You chalk it up to the fact that he operates on a different level than you do.
When you walk away, he tilts his head and decides that he’s waited long enough. You’re far too much of an airhead for your own good. Anyone with even the most basic empath spell in their arsenal can tell how he feels about you. If you can look him in the eye and wish him a good day without realising he's half-mad craving you, then maybe you have it coming.
When you fall asleep that night, your dreams are as black and fathomless as pitch. He slips quietly into the shadows of your room and watches you. He isn’t sure what it is about you that draws him in. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re one of the few people with the nerve to talk to him, or maybe he just likes the look of you. Either way, when midnight comes, he leans down and brushes a hand up your thigh.
Your skin is warmer than his, and deep inside him some animal thing stirs.
So this is what those stupid boys in class are always going on about.
He doesn’t kiss you, even though he’s been thinking of your lips since the moment he started falling for you. Instead, he drops his head and drags his tongue up your inner thigh.
“You have no idea the power you really hold,” he mutters against your skin.
And that’s true, in it’s own way. He’s on track to be one of the strongest magic users of your generation, and somehow you’re on his mind constantly. Without meaning to be and without realising it, you’ve become his one weakness.
Maybe that’s part of the reason he’s in your room. Maybe tasting you will finally get you out of his mind.
It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.
Your cunt is humid hot, and when he drags his tongue across your clit the salty taste of you is enough to make him dizzy. He nips at your inner thigh, careful not to bruise. What might you sound like, if you were awake enough to feel his touch?
He isn’t stupid enough to lift the spell, but for a long moment he’s sorely tempted.
“Soon,” he promises you quietly, “I’ll have you — every bit of you — soon.”
He doesn’t fuck you, not that first night. Instead, he slips first one finger and then another inside you. Feeling the heat and suck of your core.
The fact that he's actually inside you is heady. His heart is going so fast he can feel it in his throat, and his fingertips buzz with a current even stronger than magic. The girl he's always wanted, splayed out with his fingers in her cunt. He can feel his mouth watering for a taste of you.
“You’ll be better off with me at your side,” he says, as he eases his fingers out of you. Your slick looks pearly white in the moonlight and he brings it to his tongue slowly, reverently. “I’ll be good to you. I’ll learn to love, just for you.”
Anyone who knew him wouldn’t have recognised the desperation in his voice. He's always so perfectly poised, so coldly out of reach. People call him a one in a million talent, say he has the raw power you see every hundred years. And yet here he is, drooling over you like a mutt.
When he leaves your room, the dim grey of dawn outlines the towers and spires of the academy. You wake up late for class and in your rush to get ready you don’t notice the wetness on your bedsheets or feel the slight ache in your clit.
You spend the day as you always do. Eating lunch on the lawn with your friends, being cordial with your professors, smiling at the boys who stop to talk to you. You don’t notice him watching you, and there’s only a slight flutter in your gut when you get ready for bed.
He fucks you that night.
He can’t help himself. You’ve been a poison in his mind all day — the taste of you never leaving his tongue — and stronger men than him have given into lesser temptations.
He forces himself to go slow, but all the same, he doesn’t last very long. Your cunt pulses around him, and the heat alone makes every sensible thought bleed right out of his head. He buries his face in your hair when he comes.
“Sorceres used to steal their lovers away,” he rasps, “And maybe I ought to do the same.”
That morning, there’s a rose waiting for you outside your door.
You go about the rest of the day with a dreamy look on your face, and more than once he catches you looking around like you’re trying to figure out who your secret admirer is. There’s a cocky sense of satisfaction in his chest whenever he sees you smiling.
There’s homework to be done, and assignments that are due, but he finds himself thinking about you whenever he can. Would you like it better in this position or that? Would you take it fast or slow? Do you know how to kiss?
He knows it’s a weakness. The strongest sorcerers are always mired in intrigue and power struggles, and he can see exactly how you might be used against him. Better to keep you a secret. Better that no one knows the power you hold over him.
But he can’t keep himself away.
You’re so tempting, so helpless. And though he might be the strongest student in decades, he’s still a man.
Your lips start to taste salty when you wake up, and you find more roses at your door. Soon you’ve built yourself a bouquet. Every time he sees it, he feels a rush of possessive pride
I’ve fucked her that many times already. She doesn’t know it, but she’s all mine to do with as I please.
But nothing lasts forever. As graduation draws closer, he listens in as you discuss plans with your friends. You talk about visiting home, apprenticing with a well-known sorcerer from your kingdom, maybe even meeting someone special.
A life entirely without him in it.
No. No, that won’t do at all. Who do you think you are? He’s the best, he’s the brightest. Kings and Lords are falling over themselves to welcome him at court, and you want to have your own life? Fuck that. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know about his feelings, that you don’t realise how many times he’s finished inside you. You’re his.
You don’t get to leave him behind. You don’t get any choice at all.
On the night of your graduation, the academy throws a massive ball. All of their magic and wealth on full display. You look resplendent in a midnight gown, and when he sees you, all he can think is that it’s the perfect dress for a sorcerer's consort.
Most of his evening is taken up by introductions and accolades. It’s not surprising to anyone how much his magic has developed, and there’s even talk of further study in ancient texts. He smiles and he answers the questions thrown at him, but everyone he meets walks away with the disconcerting feeling that there’s something icy about him. Talking to him is like talking to the edge of a blade.
When the party winds down and most people are too drunk to remember more than their names, he comes to find you. You’re alone for once, leaning against a balcony with your hair loose and a flute of wine forgotten at your elbow.
You’re pleasantly drunk, and when you see him your smile is soft and sweet. You congratulate him on his achievements, wish him the best of luck with his future endeavours. But all he can focus on is your lips and the way the wine has tinted them a pretty pink.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks when you finally finish speaking.
You tilt your head, your pupils dark and wide.
“Of course.”
He leans towards you, a spell already hovering at his fingertips. His lips brush your hair.
“I’ve been the one leaving you roses every morning.”
He pulls back in time to see your reaction — the surprise, the hint of disbelief, and then the rush of pleasure. You’re still smiling up at him when he casts his spell.
You’ve never used a translocation spell before, and when your feet touch the ground it’s only his arm around your waist that keeps you from stumbling. You don’t recognise the room you’re in. There’s a fire crackling in a behemoth fireplace, and the circular walls are lined with rows of books. The stone floor is ancient — you can see runes shimmering across the bricks.
“Careful, love. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
You don’t like the dark edge to his voice, and when you finally make out his face in the firelight you like his smile even less.
“Where did you bring me?”
He squeezes your hip and only then do you realise how close he’s holding you.
“An old place, hidden by magic from most of the world.”
“What kind of magic is this? I don’t recognise these runes.”
He tilts his head, and doesn’t bother hiding the condescending edge to his voice. “You wouldn’t know how to read them if you tried, lover. This magic pre-dates the academy, pre-dates most of the books in the library.”
You don’t bother asking how he knows about it. All you know is that the magic here has an oily, heavy feel to it that twists your stomach. You try to step away from him but he doesn’t let you go.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Because this is where you belong. Safe and hidden, where no one can ever use you against me.”
He isn’t making any sense. Why would you be a vulnerability? You barely know him. You try to step away again, but he sighs and pulls you against his chest.
“Don't be difficult. I've waited too long to be patient now.”
“What—”
He kisses you.
There's no softness to it at all. He presses his lips against yours with the same demanding determination he has for everything else in life. When you don't open your mouth for his tongue, he pinches your hip hard enough that you gasp.
You always assumed he was too high and mighty to think about love or even lust. But the way he kisses you makes that cold veneer of his seem paper thin. Here's a man burning up with want, too far gone to hide it.
He forces you backwards until you feel the edge of a heavy oak desk pressing against your lower back.
“Do you want to know another secret, lover?” he asks.
He hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you onto the desk in one smooth move. Your chest is heaving.
No, no more of his secrets. No more of him at all. You're breathless half from the kiss and half from panic.
“Tonight isn't the first time I've tasted you,” he continues.
He grabs your jaw and tilts your face away from him, and then presses the bridge of his nose against your cheek.
“I've been having you for months. I've been inside you so many times I've almost lost count.”
His other hand climbs up your thigh. You can feel the heat of his touch through the silk of your gown.
You feel sick. Violated.
“But tonight is different,” he coos, so sickly sweet you want to vomit. “Because tonight you finally know exactly how I feel about you.”
He drops his head to your neck and drags his teeth across your skin.
“You can't do this,” you manage. “It isn't right. It isn’t fair.”
“Fair? Lover, I have my curses and my spells. And they far out weigh yours. There’s nothing fair about either love or magic. Haven't you realised that yet?”
He pulls back long enough to look in your eyes. You can feel his magic taking root in the air around you and the sheer weight of it staggers you.
This is how strong he really is? All those years at the academy and half his power was hidden. It would be easier to fight the sun than to counter him.
What must it be like to be him? Maybe if you had as much power, you too would take what you wanted, whenever you wanted it.
He runs his thumb over your bottom lip.
“Lover,” he says kindly (or as kindly as he can manage), “I will have you tonight. And I'll have you for the rest of your life, too. You can make it easy, or you can make it hard.”
The prodigy sorcerer, the strongest mage in the realm, doesn't wait long for your answer.
He kisses you again, his fingers thrumming with magic.
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